LOVE ABANDONED

If you enjoy historical romance set in Regency-era England, I hope you'll check out Love Abandoned. It's the second novel in the series Honorable Intentions for Dragonblade Publishing. Release is scheduled for June 1, 2022. In the meantime, please enjoy an excerpt.  

Prologue

Hear my soul speak:

The very instant that I saw you, did

My heart fly to your service; there resides,

To make me a slave to it;

 

~Shakespeare (The Tempest)

 

1808

 

Three years, and Elizabeth was as bewitching as the day he’d married her. As beguiling as the first day they met. Richard would ravish her where she stood were it not for the room full of guests. And it would be hours before they could retire, so he might as well rein in his lustful aspirations and turn his attention elsewhere. What a rubbish idea this anniversary gathering turned out to be. Even worse, it was his rubbish idea.

Richard had been in town for far too long, chasing down business investments, when he’d rather be chasing down Elizabeth. But the estate could not sustain itself indefinitely, and it was time to expand his fortunes. One day an heir would be grateful for his forethought. Hopefully, the manor would be full of children to support. Children. He’d far prefer slipping away and trying to create one than this standing around talking about inconsequential trivia. Unfortunately, he’d thought an anniversary celebration would be cheering for Elizabeth. The lack of children had been wearing on them both.

“Still gawking at your wife after all these years?” Bentley slapped Richard on the back jovially. “You almost make me consider marriage.”

Richard cast his glance sideways at his old school chum and raised an eyebrow. “Is there something…or someone…I should know about?”

“I said, almost, my friend. You know me better than that. Too many skirts in the wilderness, waiting to be tamed, for me to put myself in a cage.”

“Once a rake, always a rake? Don’t be so certain. Someday you’ll find your Lady Bentley, and she’ll cast her spell over you as mine has done to me. And you’ll be glad of it.”

Bentley guffawed, drawing the attention of some of the guests, and of Elizabeth. Richard smiled at her and held her stare. Her pale cheeks flushed a soft pink, but she did not look away. “If you’ll excuse me, Bentley?” he said and walked toward her.

Lovely gathering. Such a wonderful evening. Good to see you, Lord Thornwood. The voices swirled around him, but he had eyes only for Elizabeth. “Lady Thornwood,” he said, interrupting old Mrs. Farnsworth who was wearing far more ribbons and bows than a fresh debutante. “May I see you in private for a moment?” Her cheeks deepened to scarlet, but she nodded and set her hand on his arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Farnsworth,” he said, not waiting for her response. More platitudes followed them out of the room.

“Is there something I can do for you, my lord?” Hastings asked, two footmen in tow behind him, each carrying several decanters of wine.

“No, Hastings, we’re fine.” Richard tilted his head back toward the room. “Make sure glasses are full and no one is need of anything. And set the food out a little early.”

“Yes, my lord.”

No one would complain with an overflowing glass in hand and a full stomach. They would not be missed. He’d been delayed and had arrived along with guests, and he couldn’t wait another minute to hold her in his arms.

“Richard?”

“Shh,” he said. “Let me whisk you away.”

Her smile lit the hallway, and she leaned into him as they walked silently along the corridor. Although it would afford them definitive privacy, as no one would dare enter it, he chose not to stop at his study. The saloon next door to it had been opened to the large drawing room, which put the revelers far too close for comfort.

He released an audible sigh of relief when they made it to the library without encountering any strays. Richard pulled Elizabeth inside, begrudgingly letting her go to firmly close the doors. He turned around and leaned back on them, drinking her in. She stood there, looking shy and confident at the same time. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, but she’d left wisps caressing her long slender neck. Only two gilt lamps had been lit, and they were behind her. Her lovely shape was well illuminated with the backlighting, but he could not see her eyes. It didn’t matter. He knew them by heart and was confident they mirrored the love she would see in his.

Richard opened his arms in invitation. She smiled and stepped into them, and he embraced her. Her heart beat against his own. This was home. “I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you too,” she said and tilted her face to look at him.

He could resist no longer. He took possession of her mouth, hoping his kiss would tell her more adequately than words the truth of his longing for her. They parted, both panting breathlessly.

“Richard,” she finally managed, touching her lips as she spoke his name. “The guests will see…”

He glanced out the windows at the night. It was a miserable one, windy and rainy. No one would be strolling the gardens. He told her so.

She smiled tentatively and touched her lips again. “No, that’s not what I meant. They will see the evidence. You know how easily I bruise.”

“Did I hurt you, my love?” He cursed himself for being an uncontrolled lecher, tugged her close, and kissed her forehead. “I would never willingly do so. You know that, don’t you?” He pulled back so he could see her face.

“Of course, I do.” This time her smile was mischievous. “Hurt me again.”

And wolfishly, he did. This time, when he finally let her go, he wondered how either of them were going to be able to return to the soiree. They would be fodder for endless gossip. He could hear them now disdaining a married couple who were actually in love.

“Come sit with me, and we’ll give ourselves some time to recompose.” He touched her swollen lips, and she kissed his fingers. “Elizabeth,” he growled in warning. His blood would never cool if she continued to look at him like that. He led her to the sofa and pulled her down beside him. “It is good to see the rose in your cheeks. You were exceptionally pale when I arrived, and I worried this gathering had put too much of a strain on you. I do apologize. It was a thick-witted idea.”

“Not at all, my dearest. A husband who remembers an anniversary is special. One who wishes to celebrate it is a rare find.”

He kissed her cheek, feeling as young and in love as when they’d first met five years ago. He’d been able to claim her as his own now for three years, and the glow that warmed him at the mere thought of her did not dull. She entwined her fingers in his.

“And we have much to celebrate,” she said quietly. She shifted their hands to her midriff and clasped them with her other hand, holding them tightly to her stomach. “Much to celebrate.”

Richard’s heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Dare he hope? “You are..? We are...?”

She nodded, her eyes shimmering in the dull light. “We are, Lord Thornwood. Finally.”

He pulled her close, biting back the emotion clogging his throat, making it impossible to speak. It was all he’d dreamed of in his young years. To hear the voices of other children ringing off these old walls. And now it was going to happen. His children. Her children. Their children. “Thank you,” he finally managed to whisper into her hair.

“Oh, Richard,” she whispered back. “This is only the beginning.”

 

Available for pre-order!

Someone asked me what the most difficult thing about having a dog was. I replied – the goodbye. – Unknown

I began to take my writing seriously about fifteen years ago. Around the same time we got two little Lhasa Apso sisters. They were inseparable, except when I wrote. Spice decided she was my muse. Wherever I wrote, Spice was beside me. I don't write at a desk. My laptop is literally on top of my lap. And my little fur muse was beside me. Always.

On February 25, I said goodbye to my writing buddy. As anyone who has ever loved a fur baby knows, it is an incredibly hard thing to do. She was an integral part of our lives for fifteen years. My logical side knows that fifteen years is a good long life for a little pup, but my heart wishes it could have been a little longer.

I have written since. It took me a few days to face the empty couch. But I have managed to put words down and finish the first draft of the third novel in my Honorable Intentions series. I've also completed developmental edits on book two as well as cover copy and tag lines. It's been hard, but I've pushed through.

It seems she was not my muse so much as my life coach. She taught me how to laugh daily, to see joy in simple things, to stop and pay attention to one another. To be present in the moment. She brought out a maternal instinct in me that I would have sworn did not exist. As her health began to fail these past two years, her care became a top priority. We rearranged our lives around her needs because that's what you do for someone you love. And love? Boy, did she teach me about love. Spice reminded me, daily, that love is affectionate, demonstrative, and unconditional.

Ginger and Spice tumbled into this world together. They'd never been apart in their 15+ years of life. Spice loved all three of us. Ginger loved Spice. She is struggling to make sense of this new world where she has only the humans left. Every once in a while, she'll curl up near me. She's currently snugged in beside me, as though she knows I'm writing something challenging. She'll never be the cuddle muffin her sister was; it's simply not who she is. But, I like to think that when she joins me, she finds some comfort in my proximity. I know I do in hers. It's a start. For both of us.

RIP sweet Spice. Thank you for sharing your life with us.

Dragonblade Authors Unplugged

Check out this interview on Dragonblade Authors Unplugged. Meet the host, the lovely Evelyn Adams, and two other Dragonblade authors, then hook up with me around the 12-minute mark. (I'm the bobblehead in the bottom right corner. J)

Love Denied is out in the world!

 

Publishing a book is a very different thing than writing one. ~Tara Westover

The release of Love Denied is less than a week away. It is always exhilarating and nerve-wracking putting a book out into the universe. Months spent alone with characters and their story creates a unique bond with a fictional world. You set it free, but you don't let it go. You hold it close and hope that others feel a fondness for your created peeps, too. While this is my first book with Dragonblade Publishing, it is my fourth heading off into the sunset. So far, it hasn't gotten easier.

I do hope you enjoy it. On Friday, I'll be over at Dragonblade Publishing's Reader's Group having a bit of a chat and doing a few giveaways. If you have some time, drop by and say hello. And, as always, thank you for supporting me along this crazy wonderful writing journey.

He must shape simultaneously (in an expanding creative moment) his characters, plot, and setting, each inextricably connected to the others; he must make his whole world in a single, coherent gesture, as a potter makes a pot. ~John Gardner

I've talked about how I choose a setting and about how I track a setting. Today, I'm going to discuss how a setting isn't simply a place to drop your characters and let them run loose. For me, it's about much more than that. It provides an opportunity to enhance character development, to give insight into why a character is who they are without explicitly telling the reader. I think of it as backup information to help explain a character's behaviour.

Nicholas Sinclair is the second son to a wealthy nobleman, an earl. While he was never meant to inherit the title, he did grow up in comfort with the advantages that come with money. Independent and sure of himself, he sought to become his own man and joined the army.

Catherine Baring is the only daughter of a baron who lives on the neighbouring property. She is comfortable with men, having grown up with only her brother and father in her home, and, of course, the neighbouring Sinclair boys. Yet, she is not rough and tumble. She is graceful, refined, and exudes a caring and warmth.

What does setting have to do with their character descriptions? Everything.

Both Nicholas and Catherine grew up without a mother's love. While Nicholas and his brother were left in the care of servants, Catherine's father took an active role in her upbringing. Nicholas can be cold and standoffish and easy to anger, whereas Catherine is patient and all-loving. Nicholas' home, Woodfield Park, is a massive building with clean impersonal aesthetic lines. Its rooms are big, its pillars intimidating, and it is cold.

Catherine's home, Stratton Hall, is a medium-sized manse, with smaller rooms, and the warmth of wood panelling of years gone by. In stark contrast to the austere marble décor that greets you in the entrance hall of Woodfield Park, Stratton Hall has a huge fireplace, a well-used table and a wall of taxidermy that adds personality to the room. (I know, yuck, but it was a thing. I decided to think of it as bringing nature indoors.)

Nicholas's father is often found in his private set of rooms away from the rest of the house. Catherine's father is usually in his library which is just off the main entrance hall. Can you guess who of the two is the more accessible emotionally?

Nothing reflects the differences in their childhood homes more than the entrances. I'll use the pictures of two very real estates and quotes from Love Denied to demonstrate it.

Entrance at Willey Hall

The vastness of the atrium mirrored his sense of hollow, his heels clicking on the floor as he moved to the marble stairs dominating the hall. ~Love Denied

The Hall Browsholme

The hall was not a grand entrance but a serviceable room, its high-beamed ceiling echoing voices of days long ago. She laid her hat on the weathered table, its etched surface testimony to the many meals that had been eaten on it once upon a time. ~Love Denied

So, the next time you read a novel, consider the setting. Maybe it will fill in some valuable information.

Remember, just because you're writing fiction doesn't mean that you can ignore facts. It is those details that make fiction compelling and, in many cases, very real for the reader. ~ Roy A. Teel Jr.

One of the difficulties for me as a writer is keeping track of the minutiae, the small things that should remain unnoticed but, if inconsistent, will throw a reader out of the story. Is it a desk or a table in the library? Is the settee facing the fireplace or perpendicular to it? Are the servants' quarters downstairs or in the west wing? Is the dining room to the left or the right down the hallway?

Over time, as I write, this knowledge becomes ingrained. But, when I begin, I am too focussed on character development and plot lines to hold onto all of those miniscule details. So, in advance, I draw a plan of the house. I sketch it out, designate rooms, and add necessary details to them as I go along. It helps me maintain continuity and, as an added bonus, it makes the world I am creating even more real.

Ground Floor of Woodfield Park

Upper Floor of Woodfield Park

Ground Floor of Stratton Hall